Pre Existing Conditions are Not Covered
by jyorraku
Summary: Hoshi has issues. Malcolm addresses the problem as only a Brit can, but he is only one man! Where there's trouble, Trip's never too far away!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Pre-Existing Conditions are Not Covered By Stellar Healthcare Insurance Triumvirate Author: jyorraku Rating: R Category: Crack, Humor..because if I can't laugh.  
Codes: R/S.  
Summary: In which Hoshi gets a headache.  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Un-betaed.  
Author's Note: This was brought on by yet another story of the trainwreck that is the US healthcare system.

Part I: The Headache

Hoshi Sato woke with a headache the size of Starfleet Headquarters, as in huge and sprawling. Even in the dimness of simulated pre-dawn, her eyes felt like they were being attacked by sashimi knives, ever so delicately stabbing their way inward and flipping pieces all about.

"Fuck!" Hoshi knew more vulgarities than any person on the ship, but in this situation, the good old standby erupted from her agony enveloped mind.

Apparently, her voice traveled quite loudly beyond her quarters. As far as she knew there were no baby koalas being skinned alive in her quarters, so that surely must be the doorbell.

Come the fuck in, she wanted to say, anything to stop the sound of high pitched marsupial suffering. Unfortunately the state of her mind only allowed the sound "uuuuugghhhhhhh" to emerge from her lips.

The door did not open, as it should not, for it was only programed to open for the voice command "come in" or "come". Otherwise it was to remain as it was last night when she locked it before heading for bed. Fortunately, the person behind the door appears to have no trouble by passing the lock. A set of concerned blue eyes were the last thing Hoshi saw as she fainted into oblivion.

**************

More to come later...complete version posted on LD. 


	2. Chapter 2

Part II: The Paperwork

"My head, it hurts," Hoshi muttered as her vision began to clear. Her feet seemed to be taking her to Sickbay.

"I know, we're almost there," came a soothing voice.

It was true. The Sickbay doors opened before her.

Crewman Randall appeared out of no where and stuck a flashlight in front of her eyes.

"OW!" she yelled, waving the light away. It was too late, the headache was coming back in full force. And it was the reason she almost dropped the clipboard that was shoved into her hand by Randall.

"Please have a seat and fill this out. Return it to me and Dr. Phlox will be with you thereafter."

Then Randall disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

"Hey! No, she needs to see Phlox right away. She fainted in her room...wait..."

The soothing voice went away somewhere. Hoshi stared at the forms in her hand, blinking slowly as snippets of understanding flowed into her brain.

In an effort to concentrate Starfleet resources on defense capabilities following the Xindi attack on Earth, Starfleet has outsourced its medical insurance division of United States citizens to a private conglomerate named the Stellar Healthcare Insurance Triumvirate. The private company had many procedures and Hoshi remembered being awed at the sheer volume of paperwork being delivered back and forth through the comm channels. It was even more than the science findings and reports that were being filed with Starfleet. Phlox even had to add new medical assistants to help him with the forms.

Hoshi remembered filling out the initial S.H.I.T registration. They had some very odd questions.

Was there at anytime a gap in the coverage of your medical insurance?

Hoshi had been puzzled at that particular question. Does being on other planets count? Does being in a whole other time line count? What did it matter?

Do you have any pre-existing medical conditions?

Another puzzling question. She had official medical records with Starfleet, they should know it all. She was healthy as far as she knew. Again, she had wondered, why did that matter anyway?

Hoshi continued to stare at the Randall's form without much more comprehension. The words were running off the page and swinging in a blob in front of her eyes. Finally, the headache was too much for her, and once again, Hoshi fell back into blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

Part III: The Treatment

"It's just as I suspected. We were unable to completely remove the Xindi parasites from your brain. Another one of those creatures is in your brain. It's what's causing your blackouts," Phlox told Hoshi as she came out of the imaging chamber, awake once more.

Hoshi shuddered as she remember being tortured at the hands of the Xindi. It was unfortunate that the memories weren't also removed when Phlox took out the parasites. But now it was all coming back to haunt her.

"The good news is that since the peace accord, the Xindi has shared some of their medical technology with us..."

Crewman Randall appeared again, like an apparition, to whisper urgently in Phlox's ear. Phlox looked displeased before he continued.

"Unfortunately S.H.I.T has not approved of the Xindi medical equipment or the treatment due to backlog in their exo-medical accounting division, so if I were to treat you with anything that the Xindi has given to us since the peace agreement, anything that happens might not be covered by S.H.I.T."

Hoshi didn't comprehend. Crewman Randall whispered fiercely to Phlox a bit more. This time it was Phlox's turn for non-comprehension. Nonetheless, he relayed the news to her.

"And it appears that since you were infected with the parasites before the coverage of S.H.I.T began, this would fall under S.H.I.T's pre-existing conditions clause and possibly the coverage gap clause..."

Her eyes were starting to cross. Phlox took sympathy on her.

"Don't worry, surely they will help one of Earth's finest get back to optimal health. I will send the request for treatment immediately."


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV: The Denial

Dear Ms. Hoshi Sato,

This is an official notice from the offices of Stellar Healthcare Insurance Triumvirate. We have reviewed the information regarding the treatment of parasitic nematotitis as requested by Dr. Phlox of Denobulan. After careful consideration, we are unable to approval this request under the exclusion clause per your Evidence of Coverage. We regret we cannot authorize this treatment. The treatment you seek is not covered by the binding insurance plan you have chosen. For your convenience we have attached a copy of your signed contract for your review. Under Section II, Chapter V, Part IV, Division XI, Paragraph III, it states the various reasons for the Denial of Coverage (this is not a comprehensive list, see Appendices IV:Part II, X:Part XI, XII:LX).

A copy of a more detailed decision matrix is available upon request. A Plan Accountant is available to speak to your doctor regarding approved treatments and medical alternatives. Your health is our priority and our account representatives are here to help your doctor provide the best treatment available to you in accordance with your selected S.H.I.T plan.

You have the right to appeal decision rendered but you must complete and submit the S.H.I.T appeal forms. Appeal forms must be filed in triplicate with an appeal processing number within two days upon the receipt of this letter. The number can be obtained by calling our members services, Mondays 12-5 PM EST. Due to heavy call volumes, it can take up to two weeks to obtain an appeal processing number, please call ahead.

Sincerely,

S.H.I.T Plan Director

M.B.A/C.P.A


	5. Chapter 5

Part V: The Solution

"What in bloody hell is this? Is this a tax audit or a medical procedure?!"

Malcolm had come to pay a visit to Hoshi the day she received her Denial of Coverage. Upon seeing the letter, Malcolm grabbed her and very nearly mowed down everyone in his path as they hurried to Sickbay.

"This can't continue," he said, clearly struggling to keep his British level. He caught himself before throwing the letter on Phlox's desk and opted to crush it in his fist. The desk was filled with S.H.I.T requests and denial forms. It would have been very easy to lose the letter in a pile that size.

"Can't we appeal to a higher authority?"

Hoshi loved the way Malcolm said the word 'authority'. She offhandedly wondered if he was into bondage. She spied Malcolm's weathered hands and calloused fingers--as he clenched and unclenched his fists at Phlox's apparently nth rendering of S.H.I.T's lawful clauses and legal restrictions.

It's true, sometimes she liked it rough.

In response to that thought, the parasite somewhere in her brain shimmied this way and that, setting her head on fire with a pain so great she wanted to stab herself--with the pen that came with the clipboard holding the thirty carbon triplicate S.H.I.T appeal forms.

But not this rough.

Hot tears sprang to her red-lined swollen eyes and she couldn't stop her lips from quivering like an autumn leaf on a winter tree. As it was, she, the brilliant linguist, didn't even hear the loud crack that drew Malcolm's and Phlox's eyes back to her. Unfilled white, yellow, and blue forms fluttered to the ground. The clip had given away from the board.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with a raw rasp, her chin to her chest. "I shouldn't have gotten sick."

Malcolm's eyes rounded incredulously. Phlox's thick shoulders started to deflate.

"I shouldn't have let the Xindi put those things in my head..." She was having trouble keeping her voice steady, but the words were tumbling out. "It's...all...my...fault...I didn't mean to...cause...so much...trouble...I picked...the wrong plan..."

At this point Phlox was no longer paying attention to Hoshi. Indeed he was most fascinated and rather terrified by the dark aura that seemed to emanate from the normally stoic armory officer. Yes, it appeared the man was very upset and angry. Perhaps not the best person to help Hoshi deal with these convoluted health insurance bureaucracies.

Yet, before Phlox could get another word out, Malcolm planted himself in front of Hoshi. Her tears were splattering over his meticulous shiny black boots, but he paid that no heed. Instead, he took her by the hands and spoke gently.

"You must marry me, Hoshi."

Her puffy red eyes could not open much wider, but there was pure astonishment in her face.

"This S.H.I.T is...vile," he spat, very nearly with actual spit, "As a fellow officer, I can't stand for it. Once we are married, you will be a British citizen with its care system, there will be no need to persist on squeezing blood from this damned stone." In a quieter voice, he continued, "If you wish to divorce when you are well, that will be perfectly all right...well, not...perfectly." His Adam's apple bobbed as his cheeks pinked.

Speechless, Hoshi simply there stood with her mouth slightly agape.

After what seemed like an eternity, Malcolm squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. His hands released hers and instead came to hold her tear drawn cheeks. His hands were rough, Hoshi thought, but there was gentleness in his touch. The piercing blue in his eyes made her knees weak and her heart thump.

"If you don't know what to say, it means you've already thought of everything. So say yes, because whatever you've thought about, none of it matters," he said as his thumbs brushed against the salty remains of her tears. He smiled, gently, graciously, and adoringly into her upturned face, and it was all she could do to keep standing.

She moved her lips. They seemed to work. She blinked her eyes. Them seemed to work too.

Without yet another thought, she spoke, as if things were finally clear for the first time.

"I love you and you love me!"

Malcolm's smile faltered, her words shocked him to the core. "P...p...pardon?"

"It's true!" Hoshi exclaimed, the truth was a surprise to her as well.

"You...love me?" he asked, cautious as ever.

Though it pained her to smile, Hoshi couldn't but smile hugely at the man she loved.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"You mean...?"

"Yes!"

And then they kissed passionately, oblivious to Phlox's enthusiastic clapping in the background. Not only did he get a free show in human romantic relationships and a proposal, he now had less S.H.I.T to deal with. 


	6. Chapter 6

Part VI: The Rash

Charles 'Trip' Tucker the 3rd was not in a good mood. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he think he was extremely irritated. And yet, there was nothing wrong with the ship, other than the occasional and sometimes literal power struggle between Engineering and the Armory. Malcolm argued that more power should be allocated to weapons because if they ran into hostile aliens, the weapons were much more important. Trip replied the engines needed more power because they wouldn't need weapons if they could outrun the aliens. Malcolm retorted that if they could cripple the aliens, then they wouldn't need to run. Trip exclaimed that Malcolm was paranoid to a fault...And so on.

But today, Trip didn't care so much as to what a stubborn idiot his fellow shipmate was. Rather, he was just annoyed with everything he laid eyes on. Right now he was staring up at his second in charge. Hess was inspecting a injection manifold with a Philips Laser 38a, when obviously a 38b was a better fit--and she was humming a ridiculous little ditty that made him feel more nauseous than giddy. He briefly thought about kicking the ladder from under her and stranding her on the upper alcove.

"Is there something wrong, Sir?" Hess had turned around upon feeling the steady glare of the Chief Engineer. Then Trip felt like an asshole for thinking Hess was an asshole when she hasn't done anything remotely asshole-like--all of which made him feel more like an asshole. In fact, the way she was standing, with the soft blue glow of the manifold behind her, she looked angelic, peering down at him with a look of concern that was almost...maternal.

Trip sniffed and felt the distinct urge to cry.

What the hell was wrong with him?

"Commander, I think you should have Dr. Phlox take a look at that," Hess said carefully, as if noting his odd mood. She pointed at his left arm.

Trip glanced down to see himself absentmindedly scratching his left forearm. There was a growing patch of red there that was not there this morning. His own body was betraying him. Was there no end to this unholy torment?!

Man, he would give a warp 10 engine to have some pecan pie right now. Just like his mama use to make.

At the thought of pecan pie, Trip's bottom lip quivered.

At the thought of his mama, Trip started bawling.

Hess nearly fell down from the stairs at the sight of her supervisor crying like a baby. She hurried down from the second level and gently asked him what was wrong.

Trip raised his head with a glint in his eye that had nothing to do with tears. His expression was almost feral. It took all her might not step back.

"Do you have any chocolate on you?" 


	7. Chapter 7

Part VII: The Middleman

When Hess saw Lieutenant Reed round the corner, she wondered if he had sensed the power vacuum being left by her blithering boss.

Malcolm took one look in Hess's deer in Klingon Bird-of-Prey eyes and decided to pivot his arse back to the Armory. Unfortunately, Hess had a grip exactly like someone who played with antimatter for a living--exact control with just a hint of crazy.

"What..."

She didn't even bother to point. By this time, Trip had somehow gotten undressed behind his desk and was now wearing a blindingly bright tied-dyed muumuu with a pair of riotous pink slippers.

"Ahhh...much better," Trip sighed, oblivious to the two slack jawed bystanders of his fashion train wreck.

Hess elbowed the man next to her. No response. Again. No response. Finally, she threw caution to the wind and dared to viciously jam the crux of her arm into the ribs of the man who possessed the itchiest trigger finger this side of the Alpha Quadrant.

The Brit cleared his throat to speak, but within seconds his eyes narrowed, and his next words very nearly caused Hess to bleed internally with despair.

"Where did you get those bunny slippers?"

Who are these people and what have they done with the men?!

Malcolm knelt down to examine the fluffy footwear with all seriousness. Then he glared up at the wearer of the slippers. "These look like Hoshi's slippers!"

Trip shuffled back into a corner and growled with a snarl, "Finder's keepers, bitch!"

That brought Malcolm back with a snap. 'Bastard' was OK, he'd been call that directly many times, with a quick refreshing splash of whatever happened to be liquid and handy. But bitch? Really? Was Trip implying that he fights like a girl? That's just not on. Not wise at all, my friend.

Affronted, Malcolm finally tore his mind away from the oddly familiar bunny slippers and finally realized what was in front of him.

Trip had gone completely mad. He called a weapons-always-hot officer a bitch! He couldn't even keep his shirt on! There were no alien princesses in the vicinity! This was clearly an emergency.

Malcolm wrestled and grappled with Trip until he had him in a death grip and proceeded to drag him to Sickbay. Within these short few minutes, Trip had sobbed, sniffed, yelled, and nearly bit him. Straight-faced, he nodded at Hess, who by now had checked out and decided to go back to work on the engines. Sure, warp engines were filled with dangerous antimatter that could destroy the ship and kill everyone within a matter of seconds, but at least they were predictable that way.

The doors to Sickbay opened like the gates to heaven after the short, but eventful journey from Engineering. But instead of Saint Phlox, Crewman Randall and her ever present clipboard appeared in what appeared to be a security booth with a placard on top that said S.H.I.T Care.

"Can I help you?"

As if it was not glaringly obvious. "Commander Tucker needs to see--"

"Please have a seat outside and fill out these forms."

Outside? Sure enough, there were chairs lined up outside Sickbay. They were empty.

"Can't we go inside, Phlox can take a look first--"

Randall readily shook her head. "Oh no, we need to verify his credentials and his account status first. We had to put the chairs outside because Phlox couldn't help himself and would start to treat people before their insurance could be verified," she whispered, scandalized.

Malcolm took two deep breathes to attempt to remain calm, but it didn't help much. "Look at him! He looks like a rainbow threw up on him. His face turned just as many colors in the last five minutes! This is clearly an emergency!"

"I'm afraid not," Randall looked apologetic, but insisted on shoving the clipboard of forms at him.

Red, he was starting to see red. "You know who he is," Malcolm growled through his clenched teeth. There was not a single female on the ship who didn't know Charles Tucker the III, even if she was the health insurance incarnate.

"Yes, but with each transaction we need to verify with the S.H.I.T account representative to check whether he has exceeded his maximum annual cap, his annual deductible, his itemized benefit cap..."

He was seeing so much red, it was veering into purple.

"...it's the new S.H.I.T policy to reduce claims paperwork and avoid Denials of Coverage after the procedure. So we really need to have Commander Tucker fill in his credentials for coverage. If you have his insurance card, it has all the information you need for S.H.I.T form number 1T5-4LL-CR4P," Randall added helpfully.

It was all white now, just a space where his brain cells use to be. Malcolm stared blankly at Trip, who was muttering "my boobs hurt" as he felt up his own chest.

Blink. Blink.

"Where is your insurance card?" the words fell out of Malcolm's mouth before he could help himself. It was dead on arrival. Trip turned his baleful blue eyes on his shipmate and said, "I don't know. This is all my fault! I'm so sorry!" And then the water works returned.

It was then that Malcolm decided he was not really suited to be a security officer. What kind of a security officer wished for the sweet blissful arrival of timely death?

A very, very, sorry one. 


	8. Chapter 8

Part VIII: The Coverage

Phlox glanced sideways at Randall, waiting for the go-ahead signal. Randall gave it with an nearly unperceived nod, as if she was not really giving permission, but just happened to be there, looking over Phlox's shoulder like that of an auditor, crunching over numbers, looking for an odd line item to smite with her calculating eyes. She'd checked over Trip's account deductibles and maximum allowances, but surely, there was room for error given Dr. Phlox's hyper enthusiasm to treat his patients with whatever he deemed necessary. This included things that S.H.I.T simply did not cover, so Randall had to hover and advise the physician before he treated without the proper authorization.

And that was just from trying to get a diagnostic.

"Doctor, what the hell is wrong with Trip?" Malcolm felt boned tired just standing in Sickbay.

"Well, it looks like he's got what human females call PMS, Pre-"

" I know what that is, Doctor," Malcolm hastily interrupted, before pausing a beat. "Wait, but, he's a man." Blink. Blink. He lowered his voice just a bit, "Isn't he?"

"Well, yes, but due to the alien pregnancy he experienced, his body is showing some latent effects of the typically female production cycle. Perhaps not as regularly as human females, but then I've always found-"

"Let's…stick to the issue at hand." Malcolm really didn't want Phlox to expound on his thoughts regarding the female reproductive cycle. "But he's behaving very erratically, not like regular PMS-so I've heard."

"There appears to be a tissue bundle releasing a rather large amount of alien hormone, analogous to estrogen, which will induce behaviors such as you've seen in Command Tucker. I should be able to treat it with an EXP-ENS-IV inhibitor compound..."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Phlox, but the EXP-ENS series isn't covered in the formulary under Commander Tucker's plan. The drug dispensary won't produce it if you enter Commander Tucker's information." Randall gestured at the large industrial looking machine that took up an entire wall of Sickbay. It had the logo of a curled up brown snake, the large letter S H I T on top of it. Malcolm frowned at it. When it was installed, he could swear that if one were to look at the snake from a certain angle, it would look like a pile of turd.

"Hmmm, how about ALS-EXP-ENS-IV inhibitor?" Dr. Phlox asked Randall.

"Those are covered, but only for women."

"Mmm," Phlox stroked his chin.

Malcolm quietly was growing desperate.

Trip swung off the Sickbay bed, the hem of his muumuu up at his knees, his feet stretched out in front of him. He asked, as he surveyed his own bare legs, "Do you think I have cankles?"

The Amory officer grabbed Phlox into a corner, out of Randall's hearing, and whispered, "Doctor, can't you simply enter Trip's information into the drug dispensary but enter him as a woman? We can say it was a data entry accident."

Phlox shrugged. He knew Randall had a job to do and he'd let her advise him on the proper procedures, but accidents do happen. So before she could see what he was doing, he'd transmitted the necessary information into the drug dispensary. The machine groaned into action. The lights in the interface flickered once, twice, and then died. No drugs were made. Malcolm pounded the wall with his head while Phlox sat, deflated. Trip cried in the corner upon discovering he did have a cankle.

Randall read the output of the machine and then shook her head at the men like they were misbehaving children. "You can't change his sex and leave everything else male, the dispensary can't calculate the correct metabolic dosage that way."

Phlox sighed. "Well, I can certainly see why that happened, but this is an unusual circumstance. As his primary physician, can't I override this restriction?"

Randall brightened. "Now that you mentioned it, yes you can. There is a form available for you to fill out." She magically pulled out a bundle of papers, one inch thick. "This will need to be filed in triplicate with a S.H.I.T plan accountant. You should get a response with six to eight weeks."

"Six to eight weeks…" Malcolm stared at Randall, his eyes bloodshot and his trigger finger twitching. "That's…" The armory officer closed his eyes and breathed deeply before continuing, "…unacceptable. We can't have an unstable Chief Engineer for six to eight weeks."

"Is that your medical opinion?" Randall asked dubiously.

What gall! If Malcolm had pearls, he'd be clutching them. The crewman appeared to have forgotten that he was British and was so very good at dealing with such insolence. His eyes turned cold as he replied, "I apologize. Obviously your S.H.I.T training extends from medical procedures to intergalactic starship operations. What would you recommend? Perhaps you'd like to take over as Chief Engineer while we wait for S.H.I.T's decision?" He almost smiled as she flinched at his icy tone.

"Ah!" Dr. Phlox exclaimed suddenly, "Perhaps we can do this the old fashioned way? We can operate and physically remove the cell bundle."

Malcolm glared at Randall, daring her to speak, to deny the procedure. She sighed and muttered, "We would still have to get approval for any type of operation." Randall took a step back as Malcolm's eyes started to take on a crazed tint. "But, this type of approval can be quick, we can connect to an approval agent right now!"

Randall punched in a few keys on a computer terminal, and sure enough, a bored looking man in a suit and tie appeared on screen.

"S.H.I.T, how may I assist you?"

"Yes, I am Dr. Phlox of the Starship Enterprise, I would like to request approval for an operation."

"Account number for approval?"

"NOWAY-4NO1."

The approval agent entered a few keys before looking up and giving Phlox an apologetic smile that seemed all too rehearsed.

"I'm afraid we can't approve the removal of this class of living tissue from Miss Charles Tucker, III."

Phlox blinked. "Commander Tucker is not a woman."

"According to our latest records, she is. The last drug dispensary transaction indicated she is a female. If she's not, I'll have to file an insurance fraud alert in the system."

Malcolm swore he could hear blood rushing between his ears. Phlox was handling this better than him. "That was a data entry error. Commander Tucker is male."

"We can't approve this procedure either way. S.H.I.T is dedicated to preserving life, not removing it."

Malcolm was having none of this anymore. He pushed Phlox aside and had to stop himself from taking the computer screen and shaking the hell out of it.

"What life? What on earth are you talking about?"

The agent was nonchalant and replied with practiced ease, "The tissue bundle as mentioned in Dr. Phlox's diagnosis, of course."

"That's not life! No more than that alien nipple was."

"Nipple?"

"Nevermind! Look, do you know where I am right now?"

The agent sighed, as if he's heard this line all his life. "No, I'm afraid I don't know who you are..."

"No, no. I'm not asking if you know WHO I am. I'm asking if you know WHERE I am."

"I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"We're in bloody outer space! Commander Tucker has been infected with alien cells and we want to remove it. We have to remove it. You wouldn't give him the drugs because it's not covered or it's not for men and then you wouldn't let Dr. Phlox remove it because it's life? How on earth do you expect this person here," Malcolm dragged Trip over to the communication console and gestured to the pink muumuu wearing, hysterically sobbing man, "To work on a Warp 5 engine like this?"

"Perhaps he should consider another career?" the agent suggested hopefully.

Malcolm wanted to strangle someone. His fingers itched and he dearly wanted to feel a neck between his hands. At this point, any would do. His own neck would do too as he felt that only the sweet release of unconsciousness would relieve him of this bubbling cauldron of homicidal rage.

"You want the Chief Engineer of the Starfleet flagship to give up his career and livelihood and put the entire ship in danger for a bundle of hormone secreting alien cells?"

"S.H.I.T aims to reflect the moral fiber of the public at large. We simply will not condone operations such as these."

Malcolm stared, mouth agape. "Condone? Are you a medical professional? What makes you think this operation is something to be condoned?"

Finally the agent seemed to have an emotion other than boredom. Bristling, he replied to Malcolm's questions, "I am a certified accountant trained in the reduction of the medical loss ratio. If there is nothing else, have a nice day, sir." The screen blinked out, leaving Malcolm at a complete loss and Trip still a blithering idiot. No progress what-so-ever and what the hell was a medical loss ratio?

The Sickbay doors opened as Sub-Commander T'Pol stepped through the threshold.

"I wish to speak to Commander Tucker," she said. She looked at Trip, pausing as she took in his attire and blotchy face, and then turned to Malcolm. "Is he unwell?" she asked slowly, her tone forcibly understated.

Malcolm opened his mouth to explain. He narrowed his eyes at T'Pol, then turned back to look at Trip, who was trying to determine whether he had one cankle or two. Malcolm closed his mouth without a word and appeared to be deep in thought.

T'Pol raised an expectant eyebrow at him.

"Sub-commander, I…that is, Commander Tucker has a proposition for you."

The rest was a blur of solemn vows, lifetime promises, and the exchanging of health insurance information.

At the end of the day, Malcolm fled to the quarters that he shared with Hoshi. He felt like he'd been through hell and back and desperately needed her to tell him that life was still worth living.

"Oh Malcolm," Hoshi said, running a comforting hand through his hair.

He hugged her tighter. "I did the best I could under the circumstances."

"I know you did, but you do realize that only a third of the crew have their own healthcare systems? What'll happen to the people that can't marry into better insurance?"

Malcolm shuddered in horror. "I don't know, Hoshi. I've seen so many terrible things in my life, but this…I can't ask anyone to go into a dangerous situation knowing they might get injured and have to deal with S.H.I.T. It's too much!"

"Don't you think I know that first hand?" Hoshi didn't even want to think about the pain and confusion she suffered through when S.H.I.T refused her treatment.

He gently kissed her on the forehead, where her operation scar had faded. "Being married to you was the only good thing to come out of this."

Tears glistened in Hoshi's eyes. She blinked them away and squared her shoulders. "Look, I'm going to walk Porthos in a few minutes, I think it's time Captain Archer know about this."

"But the Admiralty approved this…" Malcolm was still a stickler for the chain of command.

Hoshi glared at him, her hands at her waist. He swallowed.

"Let me come with you. Screw the higher authorities."

She smiled with a sly twinkle in her eyes. "I do love it when you say 'authority'."

It turned out though that Porthos was not in Captain Archer's quarters. Malcolm and Hoshi entered Sickbay just in time to hear Crewman Randall explain the rules and regulations of S.H.I.T coverage.

"Porthos is not covered by S.H.I.T. As a network physician, Dr. Phlox can't utilize any authorized S.H.I.T drug dispensaries without company authorization. Since Porthos isn't covered by any insurance companies or Starfleet affiliated alien health care representatives, he won't be able to treat him."

Hoshi blinked at Randall and uttered a sentence she never thought she would ever say out loud. It was such a betrayal to her profession. "I don't understand the words that are coming out of your mouth."

"Oh, hell no." Trip, still recovering in a Sickbay bed, oversaw the whole thing and tugged at his new wife's uniform sleeve. When T'Pol raised at eyebrow at him, he asked, "Am I still hallucinating? Did she just refuse treatment for Porthos? The Captain's dog?"

"I believe so." T'Pol was as bewildered as a Vulcan could be. The concept that health care that was dependent a health insurance company designed to maximize profit was as alien to her. The goals appear to be contradictory and illogical. To refuse treatment for the Captain's canine, however, was simply not done.

Trust Trip to put it far more succinctly, "Oh no, she didn't." He shook his head at the hapless crewman. One does not screw with a man's best friend. Especially if that man is the Captain.

"Malcolm," Jon called out, gritting through his clenched teeth, "Escort Crewman Randall to the brig. I'll contact Starfleet to arrange a transport and speak to them about this S.H.I.T fiasco."

"Captain, the restrictions were all stipulated in the group plan contract, speaking to a plan accountant would be futile." Randall tried to soothe the irate captain, but succeeded only to deepen the furrows of the Captain's brows and redden the angry veins that popped on his neck.

"I'm not going to speak to a damned plan accountant! I will speak to the Starfleet Admiralty directly regarding this mockery of a health care system! This isn't the private premium health care they promoted. We're just talking to a bunch of accountants who'd rather let us suffer than do the things we paid them for!" Porthos whined at his owner's loud exclamation. Jon promptly picked him up in his arms. And as Porthos nuzzled at him with his little button nose, Jon growled with finality that sent to a damp chill down Randall's spine.

"The line must be drawn here!"

Porthos howled with enthusiastic approval and Dr. Phlox grinned that unnatural grin of his, certain and happy to never deal with S.H.I.T again.


End file.
